We Brave Few
by LazarusXXI
Summary: A one-shot. A young soldier in the Kings Army lives out his final hours before the Battle of Ostargar.


We Brave Few

A cool breeze blew across the face of Bran. After a day of training, it was a welcome sensation. The sweat and the bulk of his armour made him agitated and uncomfortable but he couldn't remove it, not at least till they would be granted permission to sleep. At least they had finished with the days training. They had only arrived at Ostargar two days ago after being forced marched by the Bann. He would had thought they'd earned some rest but apparently not. He never expected it to be this warm down South, when he first saw the snow peaked mountains in the wilds he expected it to snow. And had prepared himself for such, the first day of training he nearly died from exhaustion due to his own ignorance. He and many others, questioned the need for this amount of drilling.

New was that the war against the Darkspawn was very much in their favour, and that this wasn't a true Blight at all. Which led to further questioning about the Grey Wardens. Back home, the older men down at the tavern would talk about them. Bran had heard all the tales, peerless heroes who rode Griffons into Battle. A sight that even the Darkspawn ran from, all Bran heard was the talk of conspiracy. That the Grey Wardens were driving the Darkspawn in Ferelden, in order to weaken the Kings army and allow the Orlesians to return unopposed.

One had to remember of course that these men were Bran's age when the Orlesians occupied his home land. He had only heard stories, horrible stories, Bran couldn't decided however if they were true or not. Hate has ways of twisting a story into something more terrible than it may of actually been. Bran hadn't had much contact with the Grey Wardens here, they kept to their camp down in the Valley. He met one the day he arrived, he seemed friendly enough Bran thought.

The breeze again blew across Bran face and for a brief second Bran remembered home. His small town by the sea, this was the first time he thought about it, he thought about the ocean on a warm summer day, he thought about the Chantry on the hill overlooking the docks, he thought about boats he would watch sail into harbour. He thought of the girls back home. Suddenly, the feeling of dying caught him. Fear crept into his mind, and the summer turned black. He hadn't thought about dying before this, he hadn't really thought of himself as a soldier. The Bann levied any man who could use a sword and shield into the militia and then marched for Ostargar.

He hadn't really thought of anything. Everything was a rush.

"Alright Bran, you day dreaming again... Get you killed that will." A voice torn Bran away from his thoughts and back to reality. The sounds of clashing swords and Sergeants barking orders broke through.

Before him stood is a man who resembles a rat, with deformed teeth to match. Cyric, his source of torment for the past nineteen years and for reasons only the Maker knows, his friend. The term friend being used loosely.

"Cyric," Bran addressing him quite coldly.

"You went off after practice quietly didn't you? Had to knock one out did ya?" Bran looks up at Cyric unamused. He's used to him by now but on certain days, Bran just can't be bothered with Cyric's snide comments or dirty habits.

"You know Cyric. They Maker must have a sense of humour to be able to gift someone with a face like yours. What do you want?" Cyric takes a moment. He makes a disgusting noise as he draws up phlegm before spitting large green mucus on the ground.

"Just thought if you wanted to pay a visit over to the Tross this evening to see if any of the fair maidens there want to, "comfort," Ferelden's brave soldiers."

Bran lifts himself up from his resting place. He grabs his shield and carries it over his shoulder.

"Is that all you think about sex?" Bran starts walking, Cyric uninvited tags along.

"We are fighting a war. We could die any day, of course I'm going to think about sex. I've spotted many a fine maiden amongst the camp followers."

"What?" Bran starts to laugh. "You think they'll look at you and offer up their maidenhood?"

"I've got coin!"

"You've got nothing. You spend it all on whores and drink, whores and drink that aren't the most attractive may I add, your only paid in bits. And you're lucky to get that." Bran knew that Cyric knew he had coin. Unlike Cyric, Bran could read and write and the army paid in silver for soldiers who could. Making Bran valuable in a sense. Two pieces of silver on top of his twenty pieces of bronze was a fine wage by Bran at least.

Cyric hoped that if Bran went down to the Tross with him that he'd lend him money. Something that wasn't going to happen. As the pair delve deeper into the main encampment, Bran realises the sudden buzz of activity. Since their arrival things are been somewhat quiet, training was the most activity that happened but this was different. A Elf carrying chainmail pushes past Bran, apologising as she does. Soldiers from other Bannorns gather around each other, Bran can only just make out some of the words like, "Darkspawn," "Horde gathering," "Attack," "New Grey Warden," and something to do with Teyrn Loghain and King Calian.

Cyric grabs hold of Bran bringing him to a halt. He points toward a cut off area, guarded by Templars. "Mages," Cyric whispers, "What they doing?"

Bran watches them, they appear to be in a trance. He notices the Templars watching them ever so closely.

"I don't know but it's making me un-easy." Bran starts walking again, Cyric stares at the Mages for a few moments before rejoining Bran.

"They shouldn't be allowed to do that magic in public." Cyric says, sounding morally upstanding for once and none too surprisingly judgemental.

"Hey is that Keegan?" Cyric spots a familiar face through the crowd. "OI! Keegan!"

Keegan doesn't need to search long to find the source. He frowns at the sight of Cyric. Unlike Cyric, Keegan is a attractive man, dark hair and lightly tanned skin due to his hours out at sea. A very attractive man indeed.

"Bran. Cyric..." The way in which he greeted Cyric was similar to that do someone who had stepped in some Mabari muck. He however greeted Bran with a more friendly tone.

Bran and Keegan had been close for a while, rumour back home was that him and Bran share the same father. Since Bran didn't know who his real father was, and his mother died when he was still young making the chances of him finding out slim. Keegans father walked out on his family years ago. Some of the villages saying he left due to the grief of Bran's mothers dying. But, all it was was Tavern gossip and Bran tried not to pay attention.

Half-brothers or not; Keegan looked out for Bran on more than one occasion.

"We're thinking of going down to the Tross this evening. Fancy joining us?"

"Cyric are you a moron?" Keegan sets his bowl of soup down. "First; you know I'm married and expecting a child. Second; only cause you've happened to be down South doesn't mean the women here are going to think your just as ugly. And third; I know your game you little shit, so no you're not borrowing anymore to go whoring!"

Since Keegan was appeared to be a handy scout, and with the king needing decent scouts for the Korcari Wilds. Keegan was earning more money than both Bran and Cyric combined. One sovereign for each venture out. Only the bravest however went out, as the Wilds were filled with Darkspawn, Witches, Cannibals and other foul things. Keegan arrived at Ostargar two weeks prior due to the need for scouts and had been out in the Wilds several times, even with the Grey Wardens once, apparently. It was these facts that Bran liked to think Keegan was his brother.

"Keegan, there's a lot of movement around camp. Is something going on?"

Keegan clears his throat. "The Darkspawn are moving towards Ostargar. Reports from other scouts estimate they'll be here by nightfall." Bran is speechless, but Cyric laughs.

"You're taking the piss eh."

"Yes Cyric. In fact I was just laughing about it with Teyrn Loghain and the King earlier. Thought we'd trick everybody with our little prank." Cyric fails to pick up on Keegans sarcasm, but his hard stare brings Cyric to reality. "You're not joking?"

"No. Now will you piss off for a moment I want to talk to Bran. Get some food." Keegan watches Cyric slowly walk away, eying both Keegan and Bran suspiciously. "Shift it!" Keegan yells out, and Cyric picks up his pace towards the mess.

"Come on Bran let's take a walk." Bran stared down towards the valley below, the ant-like figures below set up make-shift ramparts and place pitches into the ground.

"There is a reason the Tevinter built Ostargar here. It's a tactically sound position. That's why we're here. You okay?" Keegan leans against one of the pillars, he places some tobacco into his pipe and tries to find flint to light it.

"I'm just surprised, tis all. I didn't expect to be fighting yet."

"That is why the Bann force marched you up here. The horde has been growing more in size since the last battle." A spark goes up from the end of his pipe, smoke begins to raise up as he nurses the flame at the other end.

"Bran may I ask you a personal question?" Keegan blows a ring into the air and offers some to Bran. "Ask," Bran takes a drag of the pipe and hands it back.

"Have you ever lay with a woman?" Bran gags, coughing up smoke. Keegan gently laughs, he isn't sure if the smoke or the question caused him to do so.

"What makes you ask that?"

"Bran, you're going to kill for the first time. It might be a Darkspawn, but your still going to kill. And would you rather you know the warmth of a woman before you kill for the first time?" Bran looks out into the distance, Keegan was right. Bran had never been with a woman. As much as he would like.

"Your nineteen summers Bran, tonight you'll become a man. At least find yourself a pretty girl before the decorate that sword with blood."

"I could find myself one after the battle."

"You'll be surprised how a beautiful woman can be a powerful morale boost. More so than any blessing from the Maker trust me. In fact, it's one of his finest blessings I say." Keegan takes another drag from his pipe.

"I think of my Raelyn every time I step out of those gates and into the wilds. I mean, you might not need a whore. Sometimes certain girls can be generous to young soldiers like yourself." Bran carries on looking out towards the distance, the sun is setting now. Soon it'll be nightfall and if the other scouts were right... It'll bring the Darkspawn.

"Here take this Sovereign. You'll find the prettier girls for one sovereign, but if you're lucky... like I said, sometimes girls are generous for young soldiers." Keegan offers a gold piece, Bran doesn't seem to hesitate to take it from him. If he is to die, he would like to be with a woman before he does.

"Keegan. Do you think that I'm your brother?" Keegan smiles and takes another drag. Blowing series of smoke rings.

"I hated you at one point. When you was born, all the rumours and that. I took pity on you after you mother's death. My old man walked out. Maybe he did go out of grief. But, you don't have any family and so, you might need a sibling."

"I have my aunt and uncle."

"Your aunt and uncle are a pair of bastards! What was your uncles excuse for not joining the militia? Old back problem? Bullshit. Spends most of his time pissed at the Tavern that one."

Bran joins Keegan in his laughter.

After a few minutes of silence Keegan speaks up for a final time.

"I'll join up with you on the field tonight."

Bran had never been to the Tross before but he had expected it as much to be this busy, especially with the oncoming Darkspawn. The Tross was slang the army gave to the section of camp followers who offered up sexual services. A mobile brothel as many called it. Bran was surprised to see even some of the Kings Own Men down here, his mind suddenly went back to the upcoming battle, he more men he saw here. The more he worried about it.

"Bran come on or else I'll never find my virgin."

Cyric had enthusiastically pushed Bran down to the Tross when he revealed he would join him. Now he seemed eager to leave Bran behind in his search.

"Why don't you go on without me then?"

Cyric doesn't blink twice at Bran before he's off. Bran shouldn't be surprised but he is. "Rat faced bastard."

The more Bran ventures around, the more he notices that there just isn't enough women to go around. Even a few fights break out, it's when it finally dawned on him that Kings Own Men are here to act as a the constabulary to keep peace, because, it could certainly use it.

Bran soon starts to think this was a bad idea, the higher class women are too pricy since it appears many have upped their price, and the lower class ones are ones that Bran wouldn't dare go near. He makes some attempt to find Cyric but, he should know better of him by now. He won't find him. Chances are he's in one of the tents. Bran decides that this is a lost cause. He'd rather kill Darkspawn tenfold then stay in this place. Getting out however, is just as hard as getting in. After going round in circles, Bran seemingly found a escape. Away from the lights of the Tross to a more secluded area, more gentle fires are lit around the area rather than the roaring ones of the Tross. The camp followers that are walking around give uneasy glances at Bran, it's when he realises that he's entered the Elven section.

"Only the Elves would stay so close to the Tross." Bran set himself against a well to relax. He takes out the sovereign Keegan gave him. "I should give this back to him after the battle." He stares at it with some disappointment. But, a part of him is glad he didn't use it either.

"Oh, I'm sorry to disturb you sir knight." The voice sends a shockwave through Bran who hurries the coin back into his pouch. A gentle looking Elf carrying a pitcher of water stares back at Bran. She looks at him with some fear, but Bran sits there stunned. He isn't sure if his emotions are running high due to the upcoming battle but to Bran, she's beautiful.

"I'm not a knight. I'm not... excuse me I didn't mean to scare you. May I know your name?" She remains silent for a while. Bran knows she's scared, he suddenly decides that he should head back in order to join rank and file. "Armelle." She says quickly, catching Bran by surprising.

"My name is Bran. Can I just say, that your beautiful." Even in the dark, Bran can see she is blushing.

"Your too kind young soldier. Alas I must go now to fetch water."

"But this is the well!" Bran yells out, jumping up to catch her. "Wait come back, I didn't mean to scare you. Please can we talk?"

Armelle stops. She turns around to face Bran, brushing some of her elegant brown hair away from her eyes. She takes gentle steps towards Bran.

"I'm sorry but I don't think I will provide enjoyable conversation, I am after all a lowly elf."

"I don't care. How old are you Armelle?"

An unknown force pushes Bran to talk, to pursue her. Even he is shocked by his actions. Can the fact that he might die tonight make him this desperate?

"I am nineteen summers young soldier."

"Please, don't call me young soldier. Call me Bran and, as I am."

Bran is rushing the words out. Scared that if he goes any slower he will hear that dreaded horn calling all soldiers to rejoin their companies.

"The only reason Human comes down here is because they've came from the Tross. I'm I right in thinking you have?" His throat goes dry, he nods, though not without being embarrassed to do so. She looks him straight in the eyes, but quickly looks away once Bran comes to notice that she has.

"Many soldiers come here to find a Elf since we aren't allowed on the Tross. Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

"Yes."

"For that sovereign. You may have my body." Bran gags on his next words, that same force that pushed him here is now fighting to hand over that coin to her. But he feels sorry for her. His selfish desire however, rapidly overwhelms his selflessness.

Bran hands her the sovereign.

Bran wasn't too surprised at the size of her tent, small but liveable. She had made it as homely as possible. Bran however felt like a trespasser. Like a dirty stain. But that force... he wouldn't let up on what it wanted. Armelle slowly removes her clothing. She stops when she notices Bran is simply sitting there.

"Would you like me to remove your armour?" Bran shakes his head, Armelle notices that he watching her but the picture on the floor. Chaotically done by a child's hand, but done with a child's love.

"Do you have a..."

"Daughter... It doesn't matter she's out playing." Armelle snatches the drawing up and hides it.

"I'm sorry. This is wrong, this isn't me." Bran makes way for the tent entrance, catching Armelle off guard. She throws herself between Bran and the entry.

"Please, me and my daughter. I need money and a sovereign. For a Elf that is more than you know. I'll do anything you ask just as long..."

"Talk."

Armelle looks at Bran dumbstruck, "What?"

"You want it, let's talk. Tell me about your daughter."

Armelle is now agape, she isn't sure what to make of this Human now.

"My daughter is six summers... her name is Kerensa She... She, has brown hair like me, hazel eyes. And I love her so much."

"Who's the father?"

"He died after her first birthday."

"I'm sorry," Bran says rubbing his face. "I'm sorry, for this. Here." Bran places the sovereign on her pillow. Armelle stares at the coin in awe at it, before looking back at Bran. Together they sit in silence, the sound of laughter echoes out into the night.

"Thank you," Armelle shifts herself closer to Bran, resting her hand on his. "After Kerensas father's death, I had very few options. I worked in a brothel to earn money before I managed to find a job as a maid in Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim."

"Arl Eamon? But he hasn't arrived at Ostargar yet. Why are you?"

"King Calian is a kind man and, he pays more money for Elven camp followers. I thought, maybe if the King noticed me, favoured me even. I could find employment at the Kings Estate. Buy a home outside of Denerim. Foolish of me really..."

Once more the pair go quiet.

"When I said you was beautiful, I really did mean it." Armelle smiles and blushes once more, gazing towards the floor. "You handsome... for a human." Bran chuckles, Armelle joins him. The battle right now is far from his mind. Maybe this is what he needed rather than intimate companionship.

Then, the sound of the battle horns goes out. Bran is less afraid now however, then what he was. "I know that we are currently in a odd situation, and this may sound odd but... promise me you'll come see me tomorrow? Bran?"

Bran gifts her a quick smile, "Of course I will." Armelle waves him off gently as he leaves her, He is confused just as she is. Their situation was hardly romantic and it was near bizarre. But Bran knows he wants to see her again. As he said, the Maker is a jester.

He hadn't rained all day, it had been extremely pleasant he remembered but now. A torrent of rainfall fell down like arrows. The ground was slowly being mashed into sludge as the soldiers kept moving in spot, to keep warm and to for many to stop the shakes.

Bran, was stood next to Keegan. Who as promised met him on the field.

"So did you use that coin?"

"In my own way." Bran answers, facing him with a grin.

In the distance, the light and finally reached the edge of the woods. Tall, dark figures stand on the horizon. For many, including Bran. This is the first encounter with the Darkspawn, for many. It will also be their last.

"Not scare are you?" Keegan asks.

"Me? After the night I've had..." Keegan grins to himself, his gaze fixed on the Darkspawn ahead of them. "Good lad."

From the woods, the growls grow louder, the clash of steel chip away at soldiers morale. Even from here Bran can tell they're eager to get to them. Then, as if they knew what he was thinking. The horde advanced. Reckless, animal like charge. Bran however didn't notice the kings orders, the order for the archers to open fire, for the order to release the Mabari.

He was thinking of his small town by the sea, he was thinking about the ocean on those warm summer day, he thought about the Chantry on the hill overlooking the docks that seemed to glow on warm summer evenings, he thought about boats he would watch sail into harbour as a child.

Then...

"For Ferelden!"

He thought of the Armelle, and how beautiful she was.

* * *

For a bit of insight. The term Tross, is German. Used by Landsknecht regiments throughout the 15th/16th Century. They we're a camp follower baggage trains for soldiers wife's and children and other relatives. Unlike in my piece of work where soldiers refer to it as, the mobile brothel. Single women weren't allowed into a Tross in fear of them turning to prostitution, the only women who were single and allowedonto a Tross were women of much needed skills.

I enjoy creative-criticism so, don't be afraid. :)


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